


Wisteria

by Hibibun



Category: Durarara!!
Genre: Character Study, Experimental, M/M, Meta, Poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-06
Updated: 2016-03-06
Packaged: 2018-05-25 01:05:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6173998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hibibun/pseuds/Hibibun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oh the colors we wish we could be and the places we could go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wisteria

**Author's Note:**

> It's time for short drabbles written at semi late hours instead of studying and working on coursework. If you have any idea what this is supposed to be I commend you, because I certainly don't. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy anyway!

If the colors their respective demons were named after meshed, it would form a purple. Rather than any kind of purple on the lighter shade of the spectrum, they’d specifically form a darkish hue similar to that of a bruise.

A stark violet to show the violence they represented.

An irritated indigo when it waxed.

And a mysterious magenta when it waned.

Their relationship was a perpetually rotting raisin that neither knew whether it wished to bleak out or attempt to return to the phantom purple that was once a grape.

Perhaps at one point it may have resembled a living thing with a shade closer to the harmony their colors were meant to signify, but that was a possibility that did not reflect the current reality.

A capricious carmine could never be trusted completely by a loyal lapis. Yet, their colors did indeed mix and under certain circumstances, even a respected ruby could be seen and a cool cobalt admired.

What sort of image did it display? What kind of emotion did it invoke by those standing by? Were they a scary sangria? A mystifying mulberry? Or was the vibrant violet too painstakingly violent for proper recognition?

They themselves could not identify the shade of purple that splattered when they crossed paths. It could not be lighter hues and yet sometimes it _could_ and would pitter-patter down to periwinkle or roll into an odd rouge.  Lulling into a lilac that felt more like the eye of a storm or the exhaustion and cool down from a particularly satisfying fight.

Or perhaps, on those days when things looked like they could have been different. If the answers to questions best left forgotten temporarily laid in reach or on the lips of someone whose own pride prevented them from asking… the shade may even wax into a wistful wisteria.


End file.
